Take Care
by Myriad-13
Summary: One Shot Complete: Clint and Natasha are two of a kind, circling each other and never getting closer. That all changes after the Avengers Battle. Inspired by 'Take Care' by Drake.


**A/N: **Ever since I saw the movie of the Avengers, I've really wanted to write something on Clint and Natasha. I, like a lot of people, find their relationship, platonic or otherwise, really interesting. So here's a one-shot just for a bit of fun.I also was inspired by the song 'Take Care' by Drake and Rihanna

**Verse: **Avengers Movie-Verse

**Rating: PG/T**

**Characters: **Natasha Romanoff (Black Widow) and Clint Barton (Hawkeye). Pairing otherwise known as 'BlackHawk.' Which I think fits.

**Warnings: **Bit of fluff and angst. Spoilers for the movie.

**Disclaimer: I in no way own any of these characters. I am simply using them for my own and my reader's pleasure. **

* * *

**Take Care**

* * *

It's quiet in Stark Tower. Almost too quiet.

Clint Barton listened, waiting for something to tell him what had his world out of balance. There was something off in the rhythm of the night. Whether it's good or bad is yet to be known.

There. A slight shuffle in the hallway. It's so quiet as if the owner of the footsteps tried to be silent, and failed. The sound is so light that Clint knows exactly who it is.

Natasha.

He and his fellow assassin had taken Stark's offer of living in his tower until the Avengers got their team dynamics worked out. So while Tony had his own floor, they, along with Steve Rogers, had decided to stay a floor below. Bruce also elected to stay, but for his safety and that of the team, he lived on a specially reinforced floor in the middle of the building. It felt cruel to separate him, but Bruce had insisted, saying he didn't want to ruin anything between the budding team.

The sound of Natasha moving around had the archer fully awake as he stood, pausing for just a moment to grab some sweatpants to cover his nakedness, and made his way out of his studio apartment.

At the end of the hallway was a communal space for all the team. It was a living room, dining room and kitchen rolled into one luxurious space. The luxury provided was something Clint had been grateful for after being out in the desert for the past few years. A quick glance told him Natasha wasn't there. But in truth, he didn't expect her to be.

He knew her too well.

It was dangerous that they, two of SHIELD's best agents, knew each other as well as they knew themselves. Their partnership had been born out of unusual circumstances, but it had gone from strength to strength.

So he knew she would be on the balcony.

Quietly, he opened the door, making just enough noise so he couldn't startle his partner. The Black Widow was dangerous when startled.

His grey blue eyes took in her form, curled up on a wicker chair as she stared out over the lights of Manhattan. Something was off about her, that much was sure. She was huddled into herself, making her look smaller than she really was, her crimson locks draping in front of her face.

Sitting opposite her, Clint waited. He was a patient man by nature, honed by his talent as an archer. He would wait however long it would take for Natasha to make her move first.

"Did you ever review the footage from when Loki was captured in the helicarrier?"

Out of the blue, the question is asked, and it surprises him. "Yes," he answered.

Natasha finally looks up, and Clint can see in her eyes there's a haunted look, worse than any he's ever seen before. "Then you'll know what he said to me when I was looking for information."

Clint nods. He remembered watching that particular segment over and over again too well. It made him sick each time he thought about the near-promise Loki had made. Clint knew that he was one of the very few people that Natasha truly trusted with her life, and the fact he had been part of a threat on her being inspired dread.

"Tell me Tasha," Clint said softly, encouraging her to let her walls down, just for him, just for this moment.

Her eyes looked away from his, returning to the picturesque surrounds. It makes it easier to say emotionally vulnerable things when she doesn't have to look at anyone. "Another nightmare. Worse."

"How?"

A wry, bitter smile twisted her features before Natasha replied, "This time you captured me, tied me up. And then drew the Hulk to me and watched while he ripped me to shreds."

Clint frowned. Most people woke up from that sort of thing screaming. Why not Natasha? She had screamed in her nightmares before, so it was odd she didn't for this.

"When I woke up, I felt I couldn't breathe. Turns out, I had pressed the pillow to my face in sleep. Even my body is rebelling against me in sleep, not just my mind," the red head finished softly, finally turning back to look into his eyes. She is relieved that there was no pity. She had no need for it. But understanding and concern? That she did need. Clint was just the person to give it to her. He was the only person to which she would confess, to which she would lower her iron-clad defences for. There was a connection between them that transcended normal partnership.

"Tasha." The word, almost a plea, falls from his lips, and suddenly they're both gravitating towards each other. They meet, arms coiling around each other's frame, finding their humanity in the embrace. The bare skin of Clint's chest met the soft grey silk of Natasha's tank top as they held each other close.

"I'm tired of staying strong," Natasha whispered into his neck. "I need some time before I'm myself, but I don't think we'll get it."

"No. No rest for the wicked," Clint replied with a smirk. Natasha smirked back before shivering. A cold breeze had wrapped around them, emphasising how warm and how _real_ Clint's body was against her own.

The unlikely pair stood there, leeching off each other for comfort and acknowledging that they were thankful they were alive. Until tonight, there had simply been no time – with bureaucrats and SHIELD taking up the past week, there had been no time for themselves.

Knowing it had cost Natasha for her to admit what she did, Clint decided to let his own walls drop enough to say, "When I saw you on one of the alien carriers…I felt like my stomach dropped out of my body. I wanted to shake you for being reckless, but then I realised that we were all doing stupid and dangerous stuff anyway. And I know you don't like being seen as anything other than independent."

Natasha stiffened for a few moments before relaxing back into her partner's arms. "You know I don't mind when it's _you_ who checks to make sure I'm okay."

Clint smiled, squeezing tighter for a moment before releasing her. "Good. Now, we need to get more sleep. I find Stark easier to deal with when I've had a full night's sleep."

They shared a knowing snicker before turning back into their floor. When they reached Clint's room, he made to pull away, but a hand shot out and grabbed his arm.

When he looked back, the faintest blush stained Natasha's fair skin. "The nightmare…I don't want another."

Clint understood, and pulled her in with him. With movements made of practice, they settled onto the bed, his front to her back so they both faced towards the door, able to view a threat if one entered.

"Clint?"

"Yeah Tasha?"

"Thanks."

"Mm. No problem."

* * *

A few weeks after, Clint found himself gasping in pain in the middle of a road, five bullets lodged in bulletproof vest.

Some freakzoid guy had thought that everyone was just the aliens in disguise and had vowed to 'rid Manhattan of this ugly scourge!' So he had outfitted himself with two bazooka's, two handguns, and two automatic rifles before going out into the street and gunning anyone down who 'looked like an alien.'

The Avengers had been called for assistance, so Captain America, Hawkeye, and Black Widow had volunteered to stop him. However, they underestimated his unpredictability.

Which is how Clint wound up in the middle of some road with bullets in his vest, pain exploding through his mind. The bruises that were forming from the impact of the bullets were large and painful. It hindered him so much that the maniac got another shot off, zipping through the flesh at the side of his neck before Steve leapt at him, using his shield to knock the crazed man unconscious.

"Hawk!" Natasha called out, racing to him from behind her cover.

To anyone else, she would have sounded merely concerned. But to Clint, he knew she was extremely worried about him.

Crap. His neck wound must be bleeding a lot.

She slid to a stop by his side, hands flying to his neck to stop the blood flow.

"Tasha," Clint began, but his voice faded when he realised his vision was getting blurry.

"Clint, stay alert, you've lost a lot of blood. Focus on me," Natasha ordered to hide the stress in her tone.

"D-don't need help, I'm fine."

"The hell you aren't!" the red head hissed, eyes flashing with anger. "Shut up and let me take care of you while help comes you stubborn man!"

"Tasha stop…I can't have two of you yelling at me," muttered Hawkeye, something in his brain telling him to close his eyes and he would be much better.

Natasha's eyes widened, and she yelled to Steve, "Where are the medics?"

As if summoned, a SHIELD medic came running out of a side street and made his way to the fallen agent.

Clint couldn't understand what the fuss was about. He felt the pain, sure, but it was no worse than it had been before. And the view was nice too, seeing Natasha so close to him. He had always found her beautiful.

His eyelids drooped, and the last thing he heard before unconsciousness took him was Natasha's cry of "Clint!"

* * *

When Clint's eyes next opened, comprehension dawned instantly.

Injured again.

"Good to see you're awake," a soft voice said to him.

Turning his head painfully and slowly to the side, he saw Natasha sitting on a chair next to his bed, a small frown expressed. He was surprised she was in casual clothing: jeans, a red top, and flats. It was nice not to see her in the suit.

"Hey to you too," he replied, groaning as pain lanced through his neck.

"Relax. For once in your life, let me take care of you," the younger agent said, rolling her eyes as he glared at her.

"You no longer owe me a debt Tasha," Clint reminded.

Natasha didn't reply.

"You don't," he pressed.

"This isn't about debts."

That made him pause.

"Then?"

It was her turn to pause.

"It's about friendship. About…about giving and giving back," she finally answered, picking up a jar on the bedside table. It was then he realised he was in his apartment in Stark Tower. As if sensing his bewilderment, Natasha went on, "After the hospital, the doctors agreed you can recoup here. The bullet wound was a through and through, but you lost a lot of blood. You were out for three days so your body could heal. And Bruce is here in case you mess the stitches up."

Attempting to sit up caused more pain for Clint, and he gritted out, "My chest?"

Natasha held out the jar with a false cheeriness. "That's what this and my hands are for."

Silence fell then, Clint having no choice but to relax as the sheet was pulled down to his hips, revealing the multitude of bandages covering his torso. Natasha's deft, light hands unwrapped the bandages, and five large, angry looking purple bruises came to light.

"Well, no wonder they hurt," remarked the archer, almost detachedly.

The red head shook her head as she opened up the jar and scooped out a great deal of healing salve out of it, spreading it between her hands before lowering them to her partner's chest. Helping each other out with injuries was something they had done for each other before, but this time was different. _They_ had been different ever since their first big battle as Avengers. Subtly, the relationship between them changed. So when her fingers slowly stroked over the bruised skin, Natasha couldn't help but feel as she was doing something more sensual than applying healing salve.

Clint felt it too, sighing in pure contentment as Natasha's hands roamed over his chest with a gentle touch to cover all his bruises. So gentle, considering how tough she was. He wouldn't have her any other way.

When her fingertips accidentally brushed against his bare nipples, he couldn't help the whispered, "Tasha."

'_Love is for children.' _The words had been trained into her so much that they might as well be etched on her skin.

Then why was it that she felt like the words were worthless when the man in front of her had killed for her, would most likely die for her, and understood her like no other, given the amount of red in their ledgers. The words were useless in the torrent of emotion she felt. Clint was her saviour. He had made himself such the day he had decided she was better off alive than dead.

"This is dangerous ground," she muttered.

"Then tread it," replied Clint, something indescribable burning in his eyes. It was warm and in this moment, right.

Natasha knew she was going crazy. She would have to be if she was considering entering into something deeper with Clint. "Do you take chances, Clint?" she asked, tentative.

He gifted her with a brilliant smile. "Only on you."

And then, before rationality won over, Natasha leaned forward and laid her lips over each bruise on the muscled torso, before looking into familiar grey blue eyes, and touching her lips to his own.

Everything in that moment, between them, was perfect.

* * *

**A/N: **So, first story for this fandom. How did I do? I really enjoyed the challenge of these two characters.

Reviews are loved! I'm a sucker for them.


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